


Drown Me in Your Love

by AliceMcGee



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, M/M, The Night After the Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Wing Grooming, talking about feelings, they're soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-02-23 11:56:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23511121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceMcGee/pseuds/AliceMcGee
Summary: After the Nopocalypse, everything seems to be going just fine. After thousands of years spent hiding and pretending they don't know each other, Crowley and Aziraphale finally have a chance at true friendship. But what if friendship isn't enough? Can an angel and a demon gather enough courage between them to be honest with each other?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 59





	Drown Me in Your Love

It was almost eight months after the Nopocalypse and life was good for Aziraphale. He didn’t have to go around running heavenly errands, and could focus on more important (and pleasant) things - like collecting rare books for his bookstore, dining in fancy restaurants (or in shabby pizza parlors - depending on the mood) and spending time with Crowley. 

Now that there was no need to keep an inventory of codenames for secret meet-up places, Aziraphale found himself looking forward to all the dinners at the Ritz, feeding ducks in the parks and quiet evenings in the bookshop. No more pretending he didn’t like Crowley and that they weren’t friends, no more dismissing various suggestions to spend time together, no more reports for Heaven. It felt like the air itself cleared, allowing Aziraphale to take deep breaths.

There were times when Crowley was looking at him with an unreadable expression. Like that night in his flat, after they came back from Tadfield. Crowley excused himself right away, saying he needed a shower. Aziraphale understood him. Miracling the grime of the long day away would be quicker, but there was something therapeutic about standing in the stream of hot water. 

He took the opportunity to look around Crowley’s place. Not like he hadn’t been there before, but Crowley had a penchant for redecorating now and then. But each time the place was undoubtedly Crowley, just as he stayed the same under all those changes in wardrobe and hairstyle over the years.

The bookcase was new. Aziraphale went there, letting his fingers run over the colorful spines.  _ Urban Jungle, House of Plants _ and  _ Botanical Style _ side by side with  _ Lolita, Naked Lunch  _ and  _ The Awakening. _ Aziraphale’s fingers itched to give the chaos on the shelves some order. He would never stand for this mess in his bookshop.

_ Your bookshop isn’t there anymore… _

It was too painful to think about it. Aziraphale sternly reminded himself that if they couldn’t think of something really good, he wouldn’t have long to mourn his bookshop. For now, he just needed to stay away from books and put his grief on the back burner.

As he was turning away, something on one of the lower shelves caught his eye. There was a photo album. Aziraphale looked over to the bathroom door. He could hear the shower humming. Crowley wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon. _I shouldn’t..._ _But I really want to see what’s in there._

He picked the album and hesitated for another few seconds. Then he shrugged. After all, he was never good in resisting temptations, this whole situation spoke for itself - being a guest at a demon’s place after helping him avert The Great Plan, disobeying every single order given to him by Gabriel and also smaller misconducts like possessing a human or doing hundreds (if not thousands) of minor temptations on Crowley’s behalf during the Arrangement. What more damage could some snooping do? His hands itched with curiosity as Aziraphale decided to open it.

It was full of photos of little Warlock with his nanny. Careful as if the pages could fall apart under his touch, Aziraphale browsed through it. Warlock’s second birthday, a giant cake and him puckering his lips to blow off the candles, Crowley behind him, helping him, looking a little bit silly in his attire. The Christmas day in Dowling residence, Warlock no older than five, holding up a little gift to Crowley - Aziraphale actually remembered this, he helped Warlock wrap a pretty rock the kid thought was a perfect gift for his nanny. Crowley and Warlock hand in hand on a stroll. And a dozen of other pictures.

Aziraphale closed the album and put it back on the shelf, not wanting to invade Crowley’s privacy any further. Turning around and looking out of the window, he was surprised by a little smile on his lips he could see reflected there.  _ Sentimental old serpent. _

He quickly schooled his expression. There was no reason to smile over silly mementos of Crowley’s affection for Warlock. That album would only serve as another proof of Crowley’s utter and continuous betrayal of Hell. 

And that thought gripped Aziraphale’s heart like a cold fist. He closed his eyes and saw Crowley’s face from one of the photos - eyes hidden by his ever-present shades, lips smirking, head slightly tilted.  _ He shouldn’t be punished for kindness.  _

The shower stopped. Aziraphale shot one last look to the album, making sure it lay in the same place and position he’d found it in, trying to shake off the melancholic feeling. If only they could go back, to the simpler times of Brother Francis and Nanny Ashtoreth. If only Warlock wouldn’t grow up, if only they could stay there, unseen and unbothered by their departments, blissfully unaware that Warlock isn’t Antichrist, the Apocalypse remaining a thing from distant future...

“Much better.” Crowley’s voice brought Aziraphale back to the present as he exited the bathroom. Dressed in a worn-out black t-shirt and pants only a tad looser than usual, he was toweling his hair, so Aziraphale had a moment to compose himself again. When Crowley peeked at him through the wet strands falling to his face, Aziraphale was standing in front of the bookcase, hands clasped behind him, expression carefully neutral.

“There are dry towels in there if you want to have a shower, too,” Crowley offered and Aziraphale gratefully accepted. More than the shower itself, he needed a moment.

In the bathroom, he leaned against the closed door and took deep breaths. _What’s wrong with me?_ _A couple of old photos and Crowley looking sort of vulnerable without his usual glamour - big deal!_ _We have more pressing issues on our hands - namely, saving our butts. You need to get ahold of yourself, stupid angel._

Aziraphale peeled himself from the door and marched towards the shower. Hot water first. Sensible plan second. Everything else after that.  _ Well, maybe except for some nice cheese and grapes, _ he thought as he turned on the faucet and first drops hit his skin.  _ We’re definitely having more wine, so some snacks should go with it… Maybe even something sweet, just for the nerves…  _

He came out of the bathroom in a fluffy tartan bathrobe he miracled for himself, running his fingers through his damp hair. Crowley was sitting on an armrest of his couch, elbow on knee and chin in hand, staring into a glass of wine he was holding. It caught Aziraphale off guard how small he looked. He was always moving with such confidence, all long limbs and flaming red hair. Never standing still. Elegant and stylish to a T. Right then, he just looked tired. And the fight was far from over.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said. Crowley glanced up. For a second, he looked like a fish that suddenly found itself very far away from any water. His mouth went slack and his eyes widened. Aziraphale didn’t dare to move. Didn’t even dare to breathe. Then the glass in Crowley’s hand broke and the spell did, too. Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. While it was true he usually didn’t walk around in a loungewear, the situation could hardly be deemed usual. 

“Is everything alright, dear?” he asked.

“Yeah, yeah, just… You just startled me, is all,” Crowley murmured, his eyes darting away from Aziraphale. He waved his hand and the shattered glass mended back into a wineglass full of red liquid. Aziraphale decided not to dwell on it - they had more pressing problems to solve.

Not that they got to them right away, though. There was a lot of catching up for the last few days. And now, when they weren’t on the opposite sides, there was also some catching up for the whole six thousand years. It took them two bottles of wine before they came up with anything resembling a plan.

In the small hours of the morning, after a few big yawns that should have left his jaw unhinged (perks of his serpent nature), Crowley suggested going to bed. Aziraphale didn’t feel like sleeping, so he declined. It surprised him that Crowley didn’t go either, opting for curling in the corner of the couch. Aziraphale poured himself more wine, fully intending to spend the rest of the night tweaking and chiseling their plan.

He found himself unable to focus on anything for more than six seconds. Every time, his eyes would inevitably fall on sleeping Crowley. Then he would catch himself and look away and back to square one. After ten or so tries, he gave up. It was dark and who knew what would happen the next day, so why should he restrict himself.

The only light in the room was coming from the outside and Crowley’s hair was dark copper in it. He looked more relaxed than Aziraphale could remember ever seeing. It was astounding, really, that they could be here, in this flat, in this moment, a tiny bubble of peace in a world that never stopped fighting, a world where bookshops could burn down while you popped to Heaven for a quick visit. 

_ What are we going to do if the plan doesn’t work?  _ Aziraphale sipped his wine and then leaned his head back.  _ And what are we going to do if it does? _

He woke up with a jolt and heard a loud  _ clink _ as the glass hit the floor, slipping from his numb fingers. Crowley was standing by the window, looking out. He turned at the sound and Aziraphale, not knowing why, quickly closed his eyes again. There were footsteps and then Crowley was standing before him. A gentle wave of energy signaled a miracle being used. 

Over the years, Aziraphale had become an expert in recognizing Crowley's different styles. This was one of the soft ones, those not intended to wreak havoc all around but rather fix things. Crowley didn't like to perform them around Aziraphale, there was always a hint of embarrassment when he got to witness them. Not this time. Thinking Aziraphale was asleep, Crowley let the kindness run free and it washed over Aziraphale like warm water.

There was a softer  _ clink _ as Crowley placed Aziraphale's glass on the table. Then another miraculous swish and a soft blanket was spread over Aziraphale, two strong hands tucking him in.

Aziraphale felt silly, but he kept on pretending to be asleep. He didn't want to ruin this moment and was sure that Crowley would be ashamed if he'd caught him like this.

Then Crowley's fingers lightly ruffled Aziraphale's hair and before he could suppress it, a smile tugged on Aziraphale’s lips and he leaned into the touch, just a little.

"That's right, angel, get rest, have some beautiful dream," Crowley whispered. "We'll need your energy in the morning."

And with that, Crowley went back to the couch. When his breathing signaled he was asleep again, Aziraphale risked a look through his lashes - Crowley had miracled a tartan quilt to cover him with and was laying on the couch under a matching, albeit red, one. 

Too tired to analyze a strange new feeling that was swelling inside him, Aziraphale closed his eyes and drifted off again. The last thought on his mind was that despite everything - the last few days, what happened at the airbase, the whole situation - he felt safer than ever before. Because now that they were on their own side, he finally knew he had someone he trusted right next to him. He wasn’t alone anymore.

The next day, the plan  _ did _ work and by lunchtime, he and Crowley were sitting at the Ritz, finally no need to hide, no need to be attuned to an ethereal or occult presence. Aziraphale found himself wondering how long it would take to get used to it. 

Turned out not too long. The way Crowley sometimes looked at him, that was another story.

* * *

But now it was a beautiful Friday and the business hours were ending soon and Aziraphale had come upon a really good year of Cabernet Sauvignon that he was planning to share with Crowley and maybe he could persuade him into giving opera one more chance… Aziraphale was happy.

After the last customer left (yes, he let people come to the bookshop and buy books. After witnessing a bunch of human children overturn events that had been set in stone before the beginning of time, he found himself willing to share his books with people. Well, some of them), Aziraphale locked the door and turned the lights off. He went to the back and found Crowley sprawled on the couch, a glass of wine already in his hand.

“Started without me, I see,” Aziraphale said, taking off his coat. Crowley just snapped his fingers and another glass appeared on the table between the couch and Aziraphale’s favorite armchair. He picked it, poured himself wine and sat down with a sigh.

“Cheers,” he said and took a sip. Crowley raised his glass but remained silent.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Aziraphale said and frowned. “What’s the matter?”

Crowley didn’t say anything at first. When he finally spoke, it was in a solemn way.

“We need to talk.”

“About what, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, feeling anxiety breathing down his neck. He tried to shake it off - after all, what could this be about? If it were an emergency, if Heaven or Hell were after them, Crowley wouldn’t take this long to warn him. And anything else wouldn’t be as bad, right?

“I love you,” Crowley said simply, offering nothing more. Aziraphale blinked a few times, not sure if he heard right. The words were still ringing in his ears, undeniable and unmerciful, spoken so differently than Aziraphale had heard people saying them to each other.

“Oh,” he said, not knowing what to add. 

“Yeah.” Crowley knocked back the rest of his wine and reached out for the bottle to refill his glass. His sleeve pulled back, exposing the pale skin of his wrist. Suddenly, Aziraphale wanted to close his fingers around it, to bring it up to his lips and breathe in Crowley’s scent… 

He shook his head to clear it. This kind of thinking wouldn’t get him anywhere.

“Crowley, dear, are you sure?” he asked, trying for a soothing tone. This was probably some misunderstanding. Crowley couldn’t mean--

“Of course I’m bloody sure, angel,” Crowley said, snarling around the edges. “I’m not some confused schoolgirl with a crush. I love you.”

“I… I don’t know what to say, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, lowering his eyes and studying his nails. His heart was fluttering in his chest like a baby bird and blood was rumbling in his ears. His mouth was dry but Aziraphale didn’t trust his hands to reach for his glass.

“Then I’ll talk,” Crowley said and took off his shades, making the mood even more serious. “We’ve been dancing around each other from the very beginning, long before the Arrangement. It was driving me crazy, having you so close and untouchable at the same time. But what could I do, right? Opposite sides and all that crap.” Crowley paused to take a sip of his wine and Aziraphale risked a quick glance his way. 

It was a mistake. He found himself caught in the yellow stare trained on him over the rim of Crowley's glass. Aziraphale felt like a deer in the light.  _ This can’t be happening,  _ he thought, dazed and confused. Everything had been so well lately… Why mess it up? 

“That should have changed a few months ago,” Crowley finally continued but didn’t release Aziraphale from his stare. “I didn’t want to ruin what we have, but it’s too much for me. There are times when you seem so distant I can’t fucking stand it. I thought I could do it, go on with how things have been for all this time, just without the stress of being discovered. I thought it would always be enough for me. But the longer things aren’t changing, the more I want them to. It’s like every time I try to move forward, you take a step back. 

“This would be just my problem and I would deal with it somehow if this was just one-sided. But it isn’t and we both know it.”

Crowley’s eyes were bright, burning like the stars he’d made all that time ago. Aziraphale held his breath.

“I love you. And I know you love me, too, Aziraphale. I’d known you loved me even before you realized it yourself. You were scared and you were right to be, so I respected you wanted to stay in denial. But we are on our side now. Not Heaven, nor Hell are coming for either of us. There’s no reason to hide anymore. But if you, for whatever reason, don’t want me-” Crowley’s voice hitched, betraying a whole storm of feelings behind his cold and even tone. He cleared his throat and quickly composed himself again. Were Aziraphale human, he wouldn’t even notice it.

“Well. If you don’t want me, then I think I should get some space. Go to Costa Rica or Corsica or some other  _ ica _ . Spend some quality alone time." Crowley said that almost casually, only a slight edge to his words. He sat straight across Aziraphale, head held high, eyes burning. 

Aziraphale’s mind was screaming, but he could only stare at Crowley. He’d thought himself so stealthy, but of course, he was no match for Crowley’s brilliant and observant mind. 

He wanted to get up from the armchair, cross the space between him and Crowley and throw his arms around Crowley’s neck. To bury his face in Crowley’s chest, to tell him just how much he loved him because there was no way Crowley could know that. He may have realized the feeling was there, but he couldn’t have known the magnitude of it.

He didn't do it, of course he didn’t do it. Old fears were holding him back. And shame, too. For one infinite second, memories flashed before Aziraphale’s eyes - all those moments when he was mean to Crowley. The hurt twinkle in Crowley’s eyes that always disappeared so quickly. And the kindness with which he repaid Aziraphale every single time.

“Demons can’t sense love.” A sentence he’d heard so many times from other angels fell from his lips without him even meaning to say it. Immediately, he regretted it. But the words were out and all other things he wanted to say were stuck behind a lump in his throat. 

“ _ That’s _ what you’re taking from it?” Crowley laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. He reached for his shades. Placed the wineglass on the table. “Well, I’ve always been a rubbish demon. See you around.”

And with that, he got up and before Aziraphale could say anything else, the gentle jingle of the bell above the door was the only evidence that just a moment ago, he hadn’t been there alone. 

Outside the windows, it was already dark. Aziraphale was still sitting in his armchair, leaning back, hands folded in his lap and eyes half-closed. For the last two hours, he hadn’t moved.

The gears in his head were running frantically, though. Crowley’s words were flying around there, fragments of sentences ricocheting through Aziraphale’s mind.

Crowley loved him. And knew Aziraphale loved him back. That was good, right?

So why did he feel so damn miserable? Why hadn’t he done something, said something at least barely sane?  _ Demons can’t sense love _ .

As if Crowley were some ordinary demon! As if he were ordinary at all… 

Aziraphale finally moved, reaching for the glass still half full of wine. He made a face at the taste but didn’t bother to refresh it. 

Out of nowhere, he could see the photos from Crowley’s photo album, the ones of him and little Warlock. Why would Crowley keep them if he were unable to feel love? Why would he save the world - yes, it was a comfortable place to live; yes, Crowley never seemed fond of Hell; yes, it was his demon nature to go against plans - but still, the amount of trouble he went through to save this planet was astounding. It took courage - isn’t courage rooted in love? And what could be braver than going into the middle of enemy territory, armed just with a face of some pathetic angel?

Aziraphale covered his eyes. Because that was what he was. Pathetic. Pathetic at being a person and pathetic at being an angel, too. How much of tempting had it taken for Crowley to talk him into trying to stop the Armaggedon? And even then, he just passively followed Crowley’s lead. It was Crowley’s brilliant, brilliant mind where the plan hatched. Always a rebel to the bone.

All these years, Aziraphale acted like a moth, pulled in by Crowley’s radiance, too scared of burning out to get as close as he truly wanted. Who could have thought that Crowley wanted him, too? 

Even loved him.

And Aziraphale loved him back. But he felt that this was not enough. He was still an angel and Crowley was still a demon. One of them was kind and brave. The other one weak and miserable. They might have their own side now. But the chasm between them was as far and wide as ever. And Aziraphale didn’t know how to build a bridge over it.

Sighing, he got up. At the very least, he owed Crowley an explanation. Then he could go wherever he wanted while Aziraphale would stay here, in his bookshop, alone and woeful. What a splendid prospect.

He was already halfway to Crowley’s place when he realized he hadn’t even put his coat on.

* * *

“You’re still here.” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement and Aziraphale tried not to let the relief of finding Crowley still in his flat to seep into his voice.

“Yeah, well, I haven’t yet decided to which  _ ica _ I should go.” Crowley didn’t smile, didn’t invite Aziraphale in. Just stood in the door, barefoot, arms folded loosely across his chest. Aziraphale could see his reflection in Crowley’s sunglasses - two small pale angels. He tried to swallow, but his throat was tight. Suddenly, the idea of showing up at Crowley’s door without a plan didn’t seem that good.

“May I come in?” he asked at last when the silence was too much. Crowley stared at him some more, his eyes flaming behind the black of his shades. Then he gave a curt nod, turned on his heel and marched into the flat. Aziraphale followed him into the living room. The place was messy, various bottles of alcohol everywhere (most of them open and looking like Crowley had taken approximately one swig before abandoning them where they now were).

Crowley leaned on his desk, facing Aziraphale, holding a tumbler with gold liquid in it. He didn’t offer a drink to Aziraphale. Didn’t even say a word. Just looked at him, waiting. 

_ I deserve that _ , Aziraphale thought. But it didn’t make the situation any easier. He opened his mouth and closed it again, realizing he still had no clue what to say. Seconds ticked by, each one longer than the previous, each one adding to the silence between them, until Aziraphale thought he would collapse.

“Why are you here?” Crowley finally asked, the words sharp like pieces of broken glass. Hurt by them, Aziraphale shifted his weight.

“I wanted to check up on you. You seemed rather distressed when you left.” That wasn't a lie. Technically. 

“Well, nothing for you to worry about, apparently. I’ll be okay. Thank you,” he said and gestured towards the door behind Aziraphale. 

“Crowley, please…” Aziraphale said, teetering on the edge of despair.

“What are you pleading for, angel? What do you want from me?” 

“I don’t--”

“If you say you don’t know then so help me Satan, I will strangle you. Either tell me why you came here, or you can leave.” Crowley wasn’t joking and Aziraphale felt cold creeping under his skin. Was this it? Was this how it would end? With Aziraphale being too weak to come clean?

“And what do  _ you  _ want?” Aziraphale asked, trying to buy some time.

“Honesty.” A single word. How could one word pack so much? Spoken so softly Aziraphale almost didn’t catch it. It stayed in the room, dangling from the ceiling between the two of them like wind chimes.  _ Honesty. _ Wasn’t that second nature for angels? At least it used to be, in the beginning, before they learned to lie… 

It wasn’t just the word that cut through Aziraphale. It was the way Crowley looked away from him, the way he gripped the edge of the desk so tight his knuckles whitened, the way his shoulders shivered slightly.

It was the vulnerability of the whole situation. Crowley may have been loud and abrasive, but he was offering Aziraphale his heart and soul on a silver plate, waiting for Aziraphale to pick it. For a fleeting moment, Aziraphale could see Crowley as an angel, like an echo from the past, and it struck him how little the Falling changed him. 

_ Honesty. _

Aziraphale braced himself. Despite all his instincts yelling at him to reverse and get out, to wait this crisis out, let Crowley take one of his decades' long naps and sleep his anger off, despite the sting in his eyes, he started to talk.

“I know I hurt you. More than once. Hell, more than dozens of times! Yes, I love you, more than anything, more than God ever intended for Her creations to love, more than you could possibly know. But I don’t deserve you, Crowley.” 

And with that revelation, it was no longer possible for Aziraphale to contain the tears. He felt them falling from his lashes, heard them splashing on the fabric of his coat. He squeezed his eyes shut, but they kept coming, spilling from behind his eyelids, running down his cheeks, over his jaws, across his throat till they soaked into his collar.

Somehow, saying it out loud made it hurt more. But he wanted to come clean. Nobody promised it would be painless anyway.

Crowley moved towards him. Aziraphale stopped him with a gesture of his hand, taking a step back and leaning on the wall, knowing that if he were to stop, he would never get it all out. And Crowley deserved the truth, all of it, no matter how hard it was, no matter how bitter it tasted on Aziraphale's tongue.

“I was ordered to love humans above everything else. They don’t even come close. You are on my mind all the time. Even when I go to sleep, I dream about you. You're the voice in my head I talk to about everything. Whenever I come across a rare book, my first instinct is to run to you and show you. I want to show you the silly ones, too, the horoscopes and bad poetry, everything, everything…” The flood of words spilling from his mouth scared Aziraphale breathless, but once he started, he couldn’t stop it. “All that… it still wasn't enough to make me treat you right. Angels are not supposed to be cruel. I can try to excuse it, hide behind my fears, say I was afraid for your life - and I wouldn’t be lying. But that’s not enough, my dear, not for you. You deserve the world, to be loved bravely and openly, to be worshipped. You’re the kindest being I know, a demon kinder than any angel and I… I’m just not worthy of you, my love.” With that, Aziraphale hung his head. It was out. He didn’t feel better, but he didn’t feel worse, either. Just exhausted.

There was a moment of shocked silence and then footsteps as Crowley crossed the distance between them. Startled, Aziraphale looked up.

“Stupid, that’s what you are!” Crowley sneered, grabbing Aziraphale’s shoulders and getting so close that their noses were almost touching. “Stupid, stupid angel… This isn’t about what I deserve. Love isn’t earned. I don’t care what we did in the past, either of us, I care about our present. And the future. You say I deserve to be loved openly, and maybe you’re right, maybe I do. But I simply want you to be loved by you, however you can, only… Honestly.” And again, Crowley’s voice broke on that word, just a little, but enough to smash Aziraphale’s heart into a thousand little pieces.

This was a demon standing in front of him. Before Time itself was invented, Aziraphale had known everything there was to know about demons - that they were rebels who disobeyed God. That they were set on destroying everything they could get their filthy hands on. That they were castaways, that God Herself gave up on them, that they were living on borrowed time that would expire with Apocalypse.

Crowley didn’t fit into that pattern. How could you look at Crowley’s plants and call him a destroyer? How could you accuse him of disobeying God, when it was him who saved the humans whom the Creator loved so much? How could you think She gave up on him when She kept all the stars and constellations Crowley made? 

And Apocalypse? No match for Crowley. 

Somewhere in that confusing mess of feelings, there was pride. Crowley was glorious. And Aziraphale? He was soft and got too comfortable among humans and maybe he was even weak - certainly, compared to Crowley.

But so what? Who was he to judge Crowley’s heart? Who was he to deny Crowley what he wanted to give him so much it hurt, so much that it made him tremble?

And even if he’d only followed Crowley’s lead in the fight against the end of the world, he could’ve just as easily followed Gabriel’s orders. But he chose Crowley and even though he made mistakes along the way, in the end, he was there, side by side with him.

Something in Aziraphale’s head was slowly getting into place, like a key turning inside a lock. He cleared his throat. He could take his time to figure it out and hope that Crowley would wait for him. Or he could take a leap of faith, for once in his life.

“I know, Crowley. You are right, I am stupid. And a coward. But I do love you and I want to be brave for you. So this is what I should have done a long, long time ago.” Gently, Aziraphale pushed Crowley a bit away, then he reached for Crowley’s sunglasses.

“May I?” he breathed out. Crowley nodded, his Adam’s apple moving, the rest of his body motionless like a statue. Aziraphale took the sunglasses off, folding them and putting them in his pocket. He cupped Crowley’s face, running his thumb gingerly over Crowley’s cheekbone. He could hear Crowley’s heart, beating fast and strong against his ribs. The snake eyes were fixed on his and his lips were slightly parted.

Aziraphale took a deep breath. 

“Crowley, I am sorry. Truly. For all the pain I caused you. Can you please forgive me?” he asked, not even trying to steady his voice. Deep down, he already knew what the answer would be, but he also knew he needed to say it. And that he needed Crowley to hear it and to tell him the answer in his own words.

Instead of words, Crowley stared at him, those yellow eyes almost glowing, hard and unrelenting. It was as if he could see right into Aziraphale’s heart, as if he opened him like a book and was browsing through the pages, reading Aziraphale’s thoughts and feelings and intentions. Aziraphale held his breath.

Then something beautiful happened. Crowley’s eyes were suddenly framed with a dozen thin lines. Aziraphale was shocked to see them - and right after the shock, there was a quiet sorrow. How little had he seen Crowley smiling so genuinely for crows feet to appear?

But before he could contemplate it any longer, Crowley grabbed the front of his shirt and crushed their lips together.

Aziraphale didn’t expect it and under the force, he hit his head lightly against the wall. Instinctively, his hands sprang to Crowley’s waist. He held on for dear life, feeling like any minute, he would discorporate, but he returned the kiss just as hard and eager.

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” Crowley murmured against his lips when they parted. All the anger from before was gone, leaving Crowley’s voice soft and warm.

“This was the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” Aziraphale objected, but he was smiling. Love was running through his veins, laced with relief. 

“Worth it, though?” Crowley asked, brushing Aziraphale’s cheek with his fingers.

“Absolutely,” Aziraphale breathed out and then he was kissing Crowley again, pulling him closer, closer, closer, as if they could fuse into one being. This was all that mattered. It felt like everything that had happened so far was just a journey to get them here, into this moment. An ending of one chapter, and the beginning of another.

"I thought your kindness would be a constant reminder of how pathetic I was," Aziraphale said between the kisses, causing Crowley to withdraw and look at him quizzically.

"And what do you think now?"

"That you inspire me to be better," Aziraphale admitted and Crowley shot him another radiant smile.

“I thought… I was afraid that I got it all wrong,” he said. “I thought it was part of my punishment, losing the ability to feel love. I mean, you don’t come across much of it Downstairs. Sometime after the apple fiasco, I stopped noticing love in places it could be expected. I stopped noticing it altogether. Now I know why - you’re a freaking beacon, angel. No matter where I am, I always feel loved by you. You drown out everything else.”

“Sorry,” Aziraphale said, blushing.

“Don’t apologize for that.” Crowley’s voice was both amused and incredulous. “Anyway. There were little surges of… something, I didn’t know what it was. When you found me with the kids that were supposed to die during the Flood. When we helped to put out the fire in Alexandria. When you refused to get me the holy water - I think that was when I started to put two and two together. And after that thing with those Nazi idiots and your books, I knew. It was still a lot to process, but there was no other explanation than that you loved me.

“It didn’t make sense. I was damned. How could someone I loved love me back? How could an  _ angel _ love a  _ demon _ ?” Crowley shook his head, the idea still lost on him. Aziraphale felt a pang of guilt.  _ I should have told him all those years ago. _

“Easily. I don’t love  _ a demon _ ,” he said. “I love Crowley.”

“Always finding loopholes, are we?” Crowley said, annoyance and admiration mixed in his voice. Aziraphale frowned.

"Not really,” he said. There was a hint of anger starting to burn in the tips of his fingers. Crowley should have never been made to think he didn’t deserve to be loved. “I mean, fuck the rules. Who set them, anyway? Did the Almighty approach you and told you, oh, by the way, you are unlovable now? No. The rules are just a bunch of stupid prejudices some self-rightous idiots came up with-- Stop laughing at me!” he almost shouted and then came to a halt. Now even his ears were burning. Anger was a weird emotion. Very hot.

“Sorry,” Crowley said but didn’t bother to stop smiling. “It’s just… For six thousand years all I heard from you was  _ but Crowley, there are rules,  _ and  _ my side this _ and  _ your side that _ … And listen to yourself now.” Crowley laughed again, although this time, he had the decency to try to stifle it. 

Aziraphale tried to stay mad, but the fight was lost before it even began. It was hard to maintain it when Crowley’s hands started wandering over his body. Aziraphale wanted to stop thinking and just melt under Crowley’s touches, but there was one more thing that needed to be said.

“I love you. But that doesn’t change the facts - I don’t deserve you. Which is okay. Nobody could ever deserve you. All I can do is try my best. Love you as well as I can. And hope that you will let me love you.” He tried to put all his emotions into the words. Because what he was saying wasn’t just a confession, it was also a vow and Aziraphale wanted to do it properly.

Crowley, an amused expression on his face, cupped Aziraphale’s face with both hands, tilting his head so he could look him deep in the eyes.

“Angel, enough with that  _ I don’t deserve you _ nonsense. You are wonderful.” He placed a thumb on Aziraphale’s lips when he started protesting. “No, you are. So you might be a bit selfish and hedonistic, but your heart is in the right place. And don’t even try to argue - you didn’t save the world just because of sushi and cupcakes. You can fool other angels, maybe you can fool even yourself, but not me. Have you forgotten our first meeting? I haven't and never will. You gave away the sword the Almighty Herself gave you, just to help a couple of humans to even have a chance to survive Her wrath. You didn’t even hesitate, didn’t even consider that She would punish you and insisted on them taking it.” He smirked when Aziraphale gave him a bewildered look. They’d never talked about this. “Eve told me when I helped her out with kids. So let’s stop worrying about deserving things and start accepting them, shall we?” 

Aziraphale stared at Crowley like a terrified rabbit at a snake. There wasn’t a corner in his mind or soul where he could hide his fear and insecurities before Crowley, he saw everywhere.

With a quickening heartbeat, Aziraphale realized there was nothing to hide anymore. His blood was singing in his ears like an ocean and all he could see was the yellow of Crowley’s eyes and all he could feel was the love he had for him.  _ I am enough. I am. _

Thousands of years of worries and uncertainty just flew out of the window. And the free space was quickly getting filled with new feelings - curiosity and wanting, trust and devotion, safety and peace. 

“Okay,” Aziraphale said, his throat tight and voice barely audible. For the first time in his life, he felt  _ seen _ , really, truly seen. He covered Crowley’s hands with his own, interlocking their fingers. 

Crowley held the stare a little longer. Then he smirked and bowed his head to kiss Aziraphale’s lips, this time slower and more deliberate, sucking Aziraphale’s lower lip in and teasing it with his teeth.

He kept one hand on Aziraphale’s jaw, thumb stroking in small circles, the other running down his neck and then back, pulling Aziraphale’s shirt up, his fingertips slipping under the hem to touch his skin. 

Aziraphale breathed out sharply. It was as if Crowley’s hands were branding him. Then Crowley’s lips left his to latch onto his throat and Aziraphale had to grip Crowley’s shoulders, his knees soft like jelly as Crowley lightly bit him.

He could feel a spark inside of him and each kiss made it brighter and hotter. His hands fisted in Crowley’s shirt, tugging it up and then his impatient fingers started mapping Crowley’s skin.

Aziraphale knew this wouldn’t last long. It was too much - all that happened in this night, all the words spoken and all the feelings revealed and all the touches and kisses… He was basically on the brink of orgasm, his cock straining against his pants, without even being touched.

Desperate to please Crowley, to somehow make up for all the cruelty he’d treated him with (and why lie - to finally fulfill some of his dreams), Aziraphale dropped to his knees. He pushed Crowley’s shirt further up, nuzzled his stomach and scratched his hipbones with teeth while his hands unzipped Crowley’s jeans and pulled them down, right with his boxers. 

He was way too eager to wait anymore, so he skipped any additional foreplay and took Crowley’s cock right into his mouth. Crowley moaned softly in approval and his fingers curled against the wall at his sides. Encouraged, Aziraphale took more. This was far better than he’d ever imagined - Crowley’s taste, the weight of his cock on Aziraphale’s tongue, it was all intoxicating. Then Crowley’s hips started to move and it made Aziraphale gag. He felt blood flushing his cheeks, but it wasn’t shame. Here, kneeling before Crowley, was no place for shame. He put his hands on Crowleys’ hipbones, holding him still, and wrapped his lips around Crowley’s cock again.

“This isn’t your first time doing this, is it?” Crowley whispered, running his thin fingers through Aziraphale’s blond curls.

Aziraphale looked up, worried there would be jealousy in Crowley’s eyes, but he knew he couldn’t lie to him. Not now. And not ever again.

“It isn’t,” he admitted. Crowley’s lips curled in a smirk that made Aziraphale’s heart skip a beat.

“Can’t wait for that story,” was all he said and then he dropped to his knees right next to Aziraphale and kissed him so hard he stole Aziraphale’s breath. He held Aziraphale by his chin with one hand, the other one fumbling with Aziraphale’s fly.

When he finally wrapped his fingers around his cock, Aziraphale let out something between a moan and a sob. How many nights had he spent dreaming about this moment? Hundreds of thousands? More? But no amount of imagination could prepare him for the feeling, for Crowley’s grip, for the warmth of his hand, for the pace Crowley set. 

“Shh.” Crowley’s voice was tender and so was the line of kisses he was pressing on Aziraphale’s jaw. “I’ve got you, my love.”

“I love you… so much,” Aziraphale said, the words choked and raw with desire. He wanted to say more, to say everything, but his mind was clouded as he was hurdling towards his climax. 

“Come on, angel.” Crowley’s voice was husky and Aziraphale buried his face in Crowley’s neck, filling his lungs with Crowley’s scent, digging his nails into Crowley’s shoulders, bucking his hips into Crowley’s fist. He was only half aware of the hardness where Crowley rubbed himself against Aziraphale’s thigh.

“Come for me,” Crowley said and Aziraphale couldn’t disobey. He closed his eyes, giving himself over to Crowley, letting the pleasure course through him until the world around him exploded, until he was left gasping for air, until he shattered in Crowley’s arms.

When he came back down, he kissed Crowley’s lips, unfocused and messy, again and again, confessing his love in all the languages he knew and maybe even inventing some new ones in the process, his trembling hands sneaking down Crowley’s torso.

Crowley leaned on him, resting his forehead against Aziraphale’s, hands on the wall behind Aziraphale, and it didn’t take long until his whole body tightened, his nails leaving thin marks in the paint. He threw his head back and Aziraphale was once again left stunned by how gorgeous Crowley was, brighter than all the supernovas Aziraphale had seen, his red hair tousled and his mouth slack. As Crowley spilled in his hand, all Aziraphale wanted was the time to stop, to stay in this moment forever. Nothing else could ever feel this right.

Then Crowley collapsed against him and bit Aziraphale’s shoulder lightly. “That’s for withholding this from me for all this time,” he said, his tone playful.

The laugh that bubbled from Aziraphale’s lips surprised them both, but it didn’t even take a full second for Crowley to join him. It was the joy they made together, it was a promise of a shared future, it was forgiveness for everything that had gone wrong in the past. They held each other, clung to each other, and laughed with each other, feeling more alive than ever. It was the sound of happiness, pure and simple.

A few minutes later, they lay in Crowleys’ king-size bed. Too hot and still too hungry for each other to cover themselves, they continued exploring what their new situation meant. Time was dripping like honey. The enthusiasm from earlier receded, making space for curious questions and murmured confessions. For careful exploring and learning about each other. Six thousand years was a lot to catch up, but there was no hurry. They were safe. They were together.

After two hours and one long shower (despite their best intentions, they didn’t manage to keep hands off each other and had to start the cleaning part twice over), they were finally satisfied and tired enough to cuddle up beneath a blanket, Aziraphale behind Crowley’s back. 

He was running his hand up and down Crowley’s side and placing fleeting kisses on his skin, marveling at the smoothness, at the sensation of being this close.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he said into Crowley’s hair as he stretched to kiss the top of Crowley’s head. Crowley’s fingers wrapped around Aziraphale’s wrist, pulling his arm around himself and placing Aziraphale’s hand over his heart. The beat was calm and strong just like Crowley’s voice when he replied.

“I know. I trust you, angel. I’ve always trusted you.” He lifted Aziraphale’s hand and kissed his knuckles.

“And I don’t want you to go to any  _ ica _ ,” Aziraphale continued, a bit irrationally, and felt Crowley smile on his skin.

“Me neither. Heard the weather there is too hot, anyway.”

“Brilliant. Let’s stay here, then,” Aziraphale said and made himself more comfortable, pulling Crowley closer to his chest. Soon enough, he was lulled by Crowley’s deep and steady breathing. Then one more thought resurfaced in his mind.

“I didn’t give them the flaming sword just because, you know,” he said.

“Huh?” Crowley looked over his shoulder.

“Eve and Adam,” Aziraphale clarified. “I knew they were good people.”

“Knew?” Crowley asked, raising his eyebrows.

Aziraphale was caught by surprise, but when he thought back to that day, he realized that what he’d said wasn’t exactly true. He didn’t know them well enough to make any judgments. Back then, there were no other people to compare them to, and no mortal could ever meet the standards set for angels to be considered good. 

“Well. Hoped,” he corrected himself. And as soon as he said it out loud, he knew there was a big difference. And he knew that Crowley was aware of it, too.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Crowley smirked and lay his head back on the pillow. “Good night, angel.”

“Good night, darling,” Aziraphale replied. He was sure he wouldn’t fall asleep, but laying there and holding Crowley for the whole night seemed like a wonderful prospect. 

* * *

Aziraphale woke up with a sneeze. For a second, he was disoriented, laying in a strange bed in a strange room. But the decor was so Crowley that the last night's events came back in a single second, almost flooding his mind. He blushed at some minor details but reveled in the rest. The handful of adventures he’d had with people before Crowley could never prepare him for the last night. Not even his best thought up scenarios, chiseled and improved over the years, came close. He stretched out, his limbs deliciously sore. 

Crowley was laying on his stomach. During the night, his wings unfurled and one was now covering Aziraphale, a feather tickling under his nose with every breath. Aziraphale turned to his side to look at Crowley’s face. There was a ghost of a smile at the corners of his lips and Aziraphale felt himself smiling in response. He closed his eyes, thinking back to the day he met Crowley, to the Walls of Eden, the first rain ever. To Crowley moving towards him even before he lifted his wing to shield him from the rain. Crowley trusted him even back then, even after meeting him no longer than a few minutes ago.

And now they were here, naked and cuddled close, echoes of their promises and confessions and moans still floating around the room. It was the start of something new, and that should have scared Aziraphale. But he wasn’t afraid. Quite the opposite - now more than ever before he was certain that no matter what could come their way, they had each other. 

He knew the journey wouldn’t be entirely smooth. Last night’s certainty that everything was right wasn’t that unshakeable anymore, old fears and doubts trying to creep back in. But there was one thing he was sure he could always hold on to. He wasn’t alone.

Crowley shifted, the wing covering Aziraphale sliding away, few ruffled feathers scratching his skin. Sighing, Aziraphale sat up… And the smile froze on his lips.

Crowley’s wings… were a mess. There was no other word for that. Aziraphale kept his wings trimmed as best as he could, given he hadn’t had help from any other angel for far too long, but Crowley… It seemed like he hadn’t touched his wings at all for at least a few decades, maybe even more. 

Overcome by his instincts, Aziraphale reached his hand to do something about the wretched things. But then he winced and quickly retracted. He knew he shouldn’t do that. Touching someone else’s wings… Well. It wasn’t like placing your hand on someone’s forearm while you were telling them a joke. It was the kind of touch that needed trust.

But he couldn’t stop his eyes from tracing them. Feathers out of place, spots where they were all crumpled, loose feathers sticking out… Aziraphale felt itchy and irritated just from looking at them, the feeling worsening the more damage he noticed. How could Crowley sleep with them in this state was beyond reason.

It was too much. Promising himself not to go too far, just fix the worst, he knelt beside Crowley and again reached his hand towards the black wings. It hovered in the air for a moment, and then, ever so gently, he tried to smooth out a feather that offended him the most. Instead of going to its supposed place, the feather loosened and fell out. Aziraphale froze.

Crowley moved, murmured something and stretched out. He looked over his shoulder and squinted, taking in Aziraphale and his best impression of a kid caught sneaking into a cookie jar.

“Angel,” he said and raised his eyebrow as he noticed the black feather in Aziraphale’s hand. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry,” Aziraphale said, turning pink. “I shouldn’t have touched your wings without asking…”

“My wings?” Crowley asked and with a surprise, he checked his back. “Oh. I didn’t even realize they were out… Must’ve been some dream.”

“Sorry,” Aziraphale mumbled again.

“S’aight,” Crowley said with a yawn. His eyes were calm and still sleepy, his hair tousled and his movements slow and languid. He smiled, letting Aziraphale know that he wasn’t upset.  _ I trust you, angel. I’ve always trusted you. _ “I’m just not used to the feeling, is all.”

“I can see that,” Aziraphale said with a frown. Now that he knew Crowley was okay with it, he took a better look, carefully touching the black feathers, finding more and more places in dire need of grooming. “Don’t demons preen their wings?”

A shadow crossed Crowley’s face and he looked away. “They have nothing to preen.”

“What?” Aziraphale asked, sensing bad news, an unpleasant metallic taste already in his mouth. 

Crowley stayed silent for a long moment and Aziraphale started to think he wouldn’t answer. Then he locked eyes with him and spoke up, voice no louder than a breathless whisper, the words cutting right through Aziraphale.

“After falling, there’s this ritual where Prince of Hell cuts them off. It’s a sign of utter denouncement of Heaven and its ways. They started it sometime between the Flood and the Great Fire of Rome, I was not around. When I came back with a report, they tried to take mine, too." The air shimmered with Crowley's sudden focus and Aziraphale saw two nasty scars right at the base of Crowley's wings. Despite knowing it was an illusion, Aziraphale felt bile rise in his throat. He clenched his teeth and even though he wanted to look away, he trained his eyes on the wounds. They stayed there for a few seconds, then Crowley breathed out and the skin around the wings was once again smooth, save for a couple of thin silvery stretch marks.

"I managed to convince everyone I’d cut them myself before they even came up with the idea. I’m basically known as the demon who invented it.” Crowley looked away and Aziraphale’s heart hurt for him. “Had to be extra careful with them after that.” 

“Oh Crowley… No wonder they’re this frowsy. You’ve been taking care of them all on your own…” Aziraphale said and swallowed the  _ you should have told me _ part. Because how could’ve Crowley done that given how Aziraphale was treating him? Shame crept to his face and he dropped his head, eyes falling on that black feather he still had in his hand. He stroked it, almost overcome by longing for a chance to start over, this time properly. For nights under the stars spent by tending to Crowley’s beautiful wings, for being brave enough to deserve that.

As if sensing Aziraphale’s unease, Crowley reached out and placed his hand on Aziraphale’s thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I guess I don’t have to be careful anymore. That must be why they popped out during the night.” He smiled at Aziraphale, the lines around his eyes making a comeback. The sight warmed Aziraphale’s heart and he smiled in response, gloomy thoughts gone in an instant. There were no words yet invented to describe what Aziraphale wanted to say. But Crowley understood like he always did.

“Don’t let me disturb you,” he said softly and turned back to lay on his stomach, chin propped on his folded forearms, wings spreading in an invitation.

Aziraphale nodded, even though Crowley couldn’t see it. Maybe he couldn’t go back in time. But he sure as hell could go forward. So he got to work. Plucking out loose feathers and setting them aside, brushing out discarded fluff mixed with dust, re-aligning crooked feathers and smoothing out rough patches. Trying to express through his touch all the feelings raging in his chest. Trying to make up for all the lost time. Promising with his fingers to do better in the future. Weaving throughout the feathers of Crowley’s wings the love that had been hiding in the bottom of his heart, like Hope in Pandora’s box. 

Now it was out in the open, full force of an Angel’s love, buzzing in the air, filling it with a soft glow and sweet scent. It was perplexing that Aziraphale could have hidden it for so long. Except, he didn’t hide it that well, not from Crowley’s quicksilver wit.

Like another melody, Crowley’s love joined Aziraphale’s, intertwining like a symphony, dancing and twirling around them. It seemed like time slowed down. And maybe it did - Crowley was lying on his stomach, eyes closed, his breathing relaxed and content. Who knew what he was doing to time? Aziraphale smiled for himself as he worked on Crowley wings, and soon he started humming.

It had been a long, long time since he did this for another angel - must have been before that apple thing. After that, he started to make excuses to leave Heaven and go to check up on people and without even meaning to, he put too much distance between himself and other angels. So when some of them, with a trace of reluctance and even pity, brought up the possibility of preening together, Aziraphale always politely declined. He’d expected to be more nervous about having hands full of feathers that weren’t his, but he wasn’t. 

He’d never experienced such a peaceful feeling. With each touch to Crowley wings, he felt jolts of energy, similar to the crackling of static electricity. The sensation lacked the excitement from last night, though.  _ There is time for passion _ , Aziraphale thought,  _ and time for leisure _ .

The feelings reminded him of something, but at first, he couldn’t put his finger on it. It felt safe, safer than he’d ever been. Calmer, too. And not even a little bit lonely.

_ Home. _ It felt like home.

With that thought, his eyes stung. In all those years he’d walked among humans, hundreds upon hundreds, home was one of the few things he’d never understood. He read about it and heard about it, and sometimes, when he slept, he could’ve sworn he dreamed about it. He opened his bookshop hoping to find out what was so alluring about having a place of your own. 

But it was just that. A place. He loved it, of course, and over the years, he gathered a fortune of priced items and decorated it to his finest tastes, like a magpie with its nest. He loved the quiet evenings there, with a new book and a cup of tea. And he loved the nights he spent there with Crowley, drinking and bickering. But it never felt like this.

Home wasn’t a place. It was the closeness of someone dear to his heart. 

He blinked away the tears. This was no time to cry. 

He lifted the left wing to get to the other side, focusing on the task and gradually shutting down his thoughts. By the time he got to the right one, he was basically meditating. He wasn’t used to his mind being so quiet, but after the last few hours, it was a welcome break.

Like all good things, this, too, came to an end. Smoothing out the last ruffled spot, Aziraphale pulled back to take in both of Crowley’s wings whole. And forgot to breathe. They were beautiful.  _ How could Falling be bad if it looks like this? _ Now that they were perfectly aligned, the feathers weren’t just plain black, but iridescent, changing color from green to blue to purple and back to black. It was the most beautiful thing Aziraphale had ever seen.

“There,” he said, giving the wings one last critical look. Satisfied, he nodded. “All better.”

“Thank you,” Crowley said, sitting up to face Aziraphale. He stretched his wings and flapped them slowly as if to test them. He smiled, eyes closed, an expression of pure pleasure on his face, and Aziraphale updated the list of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. “Heavens, I can’t remember the last time it felt like this.” He sighed happily, then surprised Aziraphale with a tight hug.

"Thank you," he said again, lips pressed to Aziraphale's shoulder.

“It’s nothing, really,” Aziraphale said, hugging back just as tightly.  _ I want to be brave for you. _ “But maybe… you could return the favor sometime. I haven’t been as behind with my grooming as you, but still. It’s bloody difficult doing it on my own.”

Crowley pulled back a bit, his eyes once again looking right through all Aziraphale’s layers to his very core. Aziraphale could only hope he would like what was there.

And judging from the smile that broke out in Crowley’s face not three seconds later, he did.

“You won’t have to do it on your own ever again,” he promised and then did something very un-demon-like, covering Aziraphale’s face with sloppy kisses until the angel was giggling uncontrollably.

“Stop it, you wily serpent,” he finally squeaked. When Crowley obliged, he cupped his face with both hands. “I love you,” he said, loud and clear, without a trace of fear in his voice.

“I love you, too,” Crowley replied, turning his head to place a soft kiss into Aziraphale’s palm. 

And then tackled him on the bed, just for good measure.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'll be happy if you let me know what you think in the comments. And if you want, come say hi to my tumblr (black-and-whitecrow.tumblr.com).


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